


i’m just a girl with a whole lotta heart

by gingermaggie



Series: let’s show this small town just what we’re worth [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Fusion, Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, disclaimer i know nothing about art and made working at an art gallery a plot point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingermaggie/pseuds/gingermaggie
Summary: There’s an art gallery in this town, now hiring according to the sign in the window, and that’s honestly a perk Clarke wasn’t expecting. But if the guy behind the counter at Bellamy’s Diner is to be believed, the gallery is just the latest in a line of community projects doomed to crash and burn. Naturally, Clarke decides that he will be proven wrong even if she has to save the gallery single-handedly. Also, he makes really good coffee.





	i’m just a girl with a whole lotta heart

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this for a thousand and five years. I am so happy it is done. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR THANKS to [Kae](http://thekae2.tumblr.com), literary editor and number one Gilmore Girl, for reading this and making it not suck on many levels!
> 
> \---
> 
> title and series title from "carry me home" by we are the in crowd

The first wild thought Clarke has as she steps off the bus and stands in Stars Hollow is that the air smells _clean._

Like, it wasn’t as though Hartford was particularly lacking in oxygen, even if sometimes the Griffin house felt that way. But here…the sun is shining and a warm breeze is blowing, and somehow it feels like an entirely new world.

After a moment, she realizes she’s standing dumbly at the bus stop, staring. The bus had already departed again with a _ploof_ and the stench of exhaust, but still all Clarke can see and smell was that small town perfection—the picturesque town square with the perfectly whitewashed gazebo, the children running across the street without fear of crazy drivers, the young couples walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, the classic diner complete with a sign in the shape of a coffee mug that read “Bellamy’s.”

It isn’t even a conscious choice on Clarke’s part to start moving toward the latter. Coffee calls.

She pauses at the front door, puzzled by the writing on the window—Aurora’s Dry Cleaning and Clothing Repair. She almost turns away, but…she can see tables through the window, tables with people and food, and at the counter—yes! A man with dark curly hair pouring coffee into a waiting mug. She pushes the door open, smiling at the sharp tinkling of the bell alerting the room to her presence.

She settles in at the counter right next to the guy who had received the coveted coffee. He turns and smiles at her—small town people are _friendly_ —and she’s so startled that by the time she remembers to smile back, he’s already turned away and pulled out a cell phone, busily tapping away.

“Monty, for the last time, no cell phones,” says the curly haired coffee man, his back still to the bar. He definitely had not seen the guy pull out his phone. Clarke is mildly impressed.

“Bellamy, for the last time, embrace modern technology,” Monty shoots back, gulping down the rest of his coffee in one go. “Some of us have jobs that require email.”

“Some of us have jobs that allow us to cut off our friends from coffee when they’re being dicks.”

Monty’s phone disappears back into his pocket.

“Long way from _whatever the hell we want_ ,” remarks another guy, plopping onto the barstool next to Monty. He reaches straight into the donut case and pulls out one dripping with chocolate and sprinkles.

The guy—Bellamy—lets out a groan, turning to the newcomer. “I never said I made good decisions in high school, fuck you,” he says, all in one breath, like he’s said it a lot.

Clarke watches the whole exchange with amusement and something that feels a little bit like longing. She misses Wells, misses the easy kind of friendship he always represented to her. But he was already a casualty of her life before she left it behind. So this was still a good move. It has to be.

Shaking off the thoughts, she turns her attention to the menu printed on her placemat. Does she want eggs? She thinks maybe she wants eggs.

“You’re not from here!” says an eager voice.

She looks up, and it’s the third guy. Not Monty, not Bellamy. Chocolate donut guy. His chin is propped onto his fist, and he’s kind of staring her down. But in a way that’s curious more than creepy. Mostly.

“I’m not,” she agrees.

Bellamy looks at her for the first time, like he’s just noticed her arrival. “Oh, sorry. Did you want to order, or do you need a minute?”

“Just coffee to start, thanks,” she says, and he nods, turning away again. Tragically, he’d given Monty all the last pot had to offer, so he starts working on a new one.

Donut guy is undeterred. “It’s always exciting to see new faces around here,” he says. He leans around Monty to hold out his hand, and she shakes it, unable to help her smile. “I’m Jasper,” he says, too dramatic, like he’s trying to be James Bond. This vibe is emphasized when he adds, “Jasper Jordan.”

“Clarke,” she says.

Jasper beams at her. “This is Monty, and that’s Bellamy,” he tells her, gesturing to his friends. “Welcome to Stars Hollow. Are you here visiting someone? We know everybody, it’s probably someone we know.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Nope, not visiting,” she says.

Something must be off in her voice, because Monty tilts his head as he looks at her. “Are you just passing through, then? Or are you here to stay?”

Trying to brighten her expression, she smiles. “I’m moving here. From Hartford. All my stuff is packed, waiting for me to get it sent here. Fully committed,” she adds, tone not nearly as cheery as she was hoping. “No take backs.”

Not that she wants to take it back. But she can’t really explain that to a bunch of strangers. They definitely have a sense of how weird this is, but she really can’t give them any context to mitigate it.

“So what are you doing here?” Monty asks. “Did you get a job, or are you taking a sabbatical and writing a novel, or finding yourself via small town à la Hallmark movies, or…?”

“This is—um,” Clarke feels self-conscious. “This is a little bit embarrassing, but. I don’t really know? I don’t...have much by way of a plan. I figured I’d crash in a hotel or something for a few days, start apartment and job hunting ASAP.”

That earns her a skeptical gaze from Bellamy. “You might be disappointed in the quantity and quality of prospects in Stars Hollow versus Hartford.”

Clarke resists the urge to snort. _You’d be surprised how little I care. I’m out. That’s what counts_.

“I’m sure I’ll find something,” is all she says.

Jasper and Monty are enthusiastic in their support. “Of course you will,” Jasper says. “I mean, yeah, I’m sure you’re educated and hardworking and stuff, but also, you’re fresh blood. You’ll have a leg up wherever you apply from the sheer novelty of being someone who didn’t go to high school with whoever’s doing the hiring.”

“All two people doing the hiring,” Monty agrees cheerfully.

“Nuh-uh, three!” Jasper argues, and Clarke thinks they’re just running with a bit until he continues. “Raven is hiring at the garage, Niylah is hiring at the inn, and now Anya is looking for someone for the art gallery.”

It’s like something in Clarke jolts awake, sharp, thrilled. “An art gallery? Really?”

Monty nods. “Oh, right, yeah, I forgot that one. I mean, Anya is still trying to get it off the ground, but it seems cool so far. Lots of different kinds of exhibits, some interactive stuff. She has cool programs on the schedule, stuff for kids, classy grownup stuff, the works. Anya doesn’t pull punches.”

Clarke feels, ridiculously, like she might cry. It feels like a miracle. It feels like a sign. “I’ll have to check it out,” she says. “I, um. I was pre-med in undergrad, but I minored in studio art and art history,” she adds, like she has to justify herself. “That could actually be the perfect job for me.”

Bellamy scoffs, setting a chunky red mug down in front of her. “Yeah, I wouldn’t count on it, there’s no way it’s gonna last,” he says.

Clarke bristles instinctively. “Excuse me?”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, like he’s surprised she’d react poorly to his statement, shooting her something on the verge of a scathing look. “Hate to break it to you, but I give that gallery a month before it goes under. Tops.”

A hot flare of anger flushes into her head, and she levels an icy look at him. “Do you have some sort of generalized objection to the arts? Are they as inexplicably worthy of disdain as cell phones? Do you also bully puppies and small children when you’re not busy using caffeine as a bargaining chip with paying customers?”

Look. Clarke realizes that she’s absolutely, one hundred percent overreacting, but her tensions are running a little high right now. She barely got any sleep last night, Bellamy has _still_ not given her any coffee, she’s just starting to realize that she’s metaphorically flung herself from a very privileged nest into a veritable pit of fire without any sort of safety net, and she’s kind of projecting her mother’s criticisms onto a perfect stranger.

But now she’s gotta stick to her guns. It’s a character flaw, what are you going to do?

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, but he honestly doesn’t seem that offended by her tirade. Instead, he takes each part of her speech in turn.

“First off, Monty’s barely a paying customer; he’s been mooching off me for years. Secondly, cell phones are useful but oversaturated in our culture, and I’m doing my part to combat dependency on them in small ways. I do not bully small children or puppies. And I have no particular beef with the arts or the gallery, okay? Stuff like that just doesn’t work in this town,” he says. “It’s a fad. We’ve had a million of them.” He starts ticking off on his fingers. “Stars Hollow History Museum—bust. Wick’s hot air balloon service—bust, along with every other project Wick has ever attempted. Jaha’s Old-Fashioned Candy Shoppe—tragically still around, but objectively a bust. Hell, we couldn’t even keep parking meters going for more than a month.” He shrugs, meets her eyes evenly. “This isn’t really a place that takes change and innovation well.”

“Amen, sister-friend,” Monty says, raising his mug with a roll of his eyes.

“Who says beef anymore?” Jasper asks.

Clarke works very hard to hide the smile that’s trying to form on her face. Maybe she took his words a little too hard, but he didn’t have to be such an asshole about it.

“Can it be _innovative_ enough to _change_ the state of my mug into ‘containing coffee’?” she finally asks, primly, lifting her chin the slightest bit and looking pointedly at the coffeepot, which is plenty full by now.

Bellamy, for his part, doesn’t hesitate to break out in a grin. He raises his eyebrows sardonically in Jasper’s direction as he grabs the pot and fills her mug obnoxiously full. “Whatever the hell you want, princess.”

~~~

Despite the rocky start she had there, Clarke is back at Bellamy’s first thing the next morning. She’s hoping Monty and Jasper will be there, because she’s going to go to the gallery today and try to solicit employment, and she needs somebody to give her a pep talk and psych her up.

Also. Well. The coffee had been really, really good.

And that was a good thing, because yesterday was enough of a headache without caffeine withdrawal on top of the rest of it. She’d ducked out of Bellamy’s the same time as Monty and Jasper, after an hour and a half of conversation and three cups of coffee (all hers), and when they parted ways they both left her with a phone number, a hug, and a promise to hang out again very soon. Clarke continues to feel bewildered by their sheer friendliness and kindness. For all the eggs she’d put into this basket, she didn’t expect to feel so soon like Stars Hollow could become a home. Like it could feel like more than just an escape route she’d picked at random. 

Monty had also pointed her in the direction of the town’s singular inn—not a hotel, an _inn_ , and she’d headed there immediately just to make sure she wouldn’t end up having to beg her new friends to let her crash on their floor for a few days.

She shouldn’t have worried. The proprietor, Niylah, is as welcoming as Jasper and Monty, if more subdued, and they easily work out an acceptable price that means Clarke won’t go broke if apartment hunting takes longer than she’d like. The room is small, but cozy, and it smells nice, which is one of those little things you don’t always appreciate enough.

The rest of her day is spent wandering the town, trying to get her bearings, and keeping an eye out for help wanted signs to see whether or not Jasper and Monty were exaggerating about the prospects. They weren’t. She does see the gallery, the large HELP WANTED in the window, but she can’t quite work up the nerve to go in. Instead, she goes to a corner store and buys a huge container of soup before returning to her room to watch Netflix until she falls asleep.

Now she’s back downtown, sliding onto a stool and smiling brightly at Bellamy. Trying to be nice. Hoping to make up for snapping at him.

He looks warily at her. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to lull me into a false sense of security? Or is this like when animals bare their teeth to show they can fuck you up? Which direction of threat are we going with?”

She feels her face melt into a scowl, and his instantly morphs into a smile. “Okay, much better. I can work with generally grumpy. Coffee?”

Clarke wants to argue or object in some way, but...well, she wasn’t the only one who was kind of a dick yesterday. The way his hands shift on the mug he’s already selected for her—green today, one of those kinds with the sweater on it—makes her think maybe his gentle teasing is his own version of a peace offering.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that would be great.”

Bellamy grins, looking relieved, and it feels completely natural to smile back.

“How’s the job search going?” he asks, and she sighs. “That bad?”

“I might not have fully believed your claims about the number of jobs available,” Clarke admits.

A raised eyebrow. “What benefit would I get from lying about that?”

Clarke throws her hands in the air. “I don't know! The joy of being an asshole? I have no context for your sinister motivations. Maybe you enjoy negatively affecting the Stars Hollow economy by driving away new labor forces?”

“Yeah, that seems correct,” Bellamy says, wry. He pours her coffee and she takes a long, grateful sip. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks. “Eggs? Toast? Waffles?”

She smiles. “Eggs would be great. Scrambled?”

He grins back. “You got it.”

Once his back is turned, Clarke discreetly pulls out her phone. Missed call from her mother. Stomach clenching, she clears the notification.

“No phones, Clarke,” Bellamy calls from the stove, and that, ridiculously, makes her smile.

She slides her phone back into her pocket. “Sorry,” she says, and Bellamy smirks at her over his shoulder.

There’s a weirdly companionable silence as he cooks her eggs, broken by the sound of the bell over the door ringing. Two young women come in, laughing, and flop down onto barstools a few spots down from Clarke.

“Hey, Bell, is the new shipment of chocolate chips in yet?” one of them asks, leaning against the counter.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “Harper. He’s lying to you about the chocolate chips. He absolutely has chocolate chips. He runs a diner. He just likes destroying joy.”

Bellamy turns and shoots them a disgruntled look, completely undermined by the affection in his eyes. “You wound me, Monroe,” he says. “If I _were_ lying about the presence or absence of certain tooth-rotting pancake ingredients, it would be out of concern for certain citizens’ dental health, not out of a desire to spread misery.” He grins at Clarke again. “Or, what was it, _the joy of being an asshole_?”

This brings the attention of the girls, Harper and Monroe, directly onto Clarke.

“Hi!” the first one says. Harper. “You must be Clarke!”

Before Clarke has any idea what’s happening, Harper has jumped out of her seat and tossed her arms around her in an alarmingly exuberant hug. Clarke’s hands flail awkwardly for a moment before she commits to the hug and lightly touches Harper’s back.

“Monty and Jasper told us about you!” she gushes. “Welcome to Stars Hollow!”

When Harper finally pulls back, the other girl, Monroe gives her a shy, awkward wave from her own barstool, and Clarke feels herself smiling as she waves back.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’m happy to be here.”

She chats idly with Harper and Monroe as she eats her eggs and Harper pesters Bellamy into giving her double-chocolate pancakes, learning about their lives and friends and dynamics and just generally the vibe of the town which seems to be very—friendly. Close-knit, Clarke guesses. Up in everyone’s business, to put it bluntly.

“I’m just saying,” Harper says, both hands in the air in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger type gesture. “Monty’s been spending a lot of time at Raven’s garage! They’re both super nerds and drop-dead gorgeous, it wouldn’t be the craziest match in the world!”

Monroe scoffs. “As if,” she says. “Have you seen the way Monty looks at Miller? I bet you fifty bucks they’re dating within a month. I don’t think Raven is quite over her almost-thing with Wick, if we’re being totally honest about it. But Monty is totally ready to appreciate Miller’s...face.”

“You are on,” Harper says, sticking out her hand for a shake. “Even _if_ you’re right and Monty likes Miller, _not to mention_ Miller liking him, there is no way those two have a chance in hell of getting their shit together in thirty days. That is _not_ the Monty Green way.”

Bellamy’s tone is mild as he interjects. “Didn’t you date Monty for like, two years?”

Harper shoots him a _duh_ look. “Which makes me kind of an expert, doesn’t it?”

Clarke can’t help asking, “And it’s not weird for you? You know, to place bets on your ex’s love life?” She hasn’t been in too many relationships herself, but she can’t imagine casually debating any of their new prospects, not unless she was drunk and shit-talking at least _some_ of them.

The other girls shrugs, swatting at Monroe when she lets out a snort. “It was like, high school,” Harper explains, waving her hand dismissively. “Forever ago, and ultimately more superficial than we realized at the time. Now he’s just one of my best friends, and completely fair game for mockery.”

“Along with the rest of the town, apparently,” Bellamy mutters under his breath, and Harper smiles sweetly at him.

“Exactly,” she says.

Monroe and Harper head out around then, after insisting on exchanging numbers with Clarke just like Monty and Jasper.

“This is a really, uh, chummy town, huh?” Clarke asks Bellamy once they’re gone and the only other patrons are a safe distance away, at tables by the windows. She lets a little bit of sarcasm leak into her tone. Bellamy seems like he’d appreciate it, if no one else here does.

As she thought, he snorts. “Kind of an understatement, but yeah. I’d put a lot of the blame on Pike and Jaha,” he adds. “They have a talent for being batshit insane and somehow still getting the town to follow their lead.”

“And Pike and Jaha are…?” Clarke asks, eyebrow raised.

“The mayor and the town selectman,” he says. “Jaha was the mayor for, like, forever, and then a couple years ago Pike staged a coup and got elected. Promised he’d, I dunno, change things? Keep things the same? I didn’t pay much attention. Local politics aren’t really my thing. Anyway, nothing substantial ever happened, especially since Jaha essentially invented a new position of authority for himself and continues to run the place along with Pike.”

Clarke considers all this. “This is quite a place.” she says finally.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Full of fads that don’t stand a chance,” she adds, and Bellamy smirks, finally clearing her plate and her mug.

“Raven’s plan for a Stars Hollow radio station—utterly shot down,” he says. “Monty’s campaign for city-wide wifi? Didn’t stand a chance. This place is stuck in a slightly less racist version of the 1950s, and they want to keep it that way,” he says.

“‘They’?” Clarke presses. “Distancing yourself?”

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s a great town,” he says. “I love it here. But it’s not perfect. If I were in charge, instead of Jaha and Pike...well, I’d do some things differently.”

Clarke nods. She gets feeling stifled by authority figures. Obviously.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, the picture of sincerity. “I think you’d be a splendid mayor.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, slinging a towel over his shoulder and retreating into the kitchen. “Go get a job, princess,” he calls over his shoulder.

~~~

Clarke can totally get a job. Clarke graduated _summa cum laude_ from a great university, double majored in Health Science and Biochem with two minors, was in charge of three clubs, had two jobs, and maintained some semblance of a social life her senior year. She survived her dad’s death; the implosion of her friendship with Wells; the final, decisive split from her mom. She’s pretty damn sure she can handle anything. Objectively.

In the moment, though, all she can think about are her failures.

She’s working on calming her heart rate and regulating her breathing, standing on the steps of the gallery, when the door whips open and a beautiful, stern-looking woman is standing there glaring at her.

“We’re closed right now,” she says, sharp. “The show opens next Friday at 5.”

Clarke feels the immediate urge to sputter apologies and run away in tears, but she manages to stifle it and sound somewhat professional.

“Actually, I’m here about the open position. Clarke Griffin,” she adds, sticking out her hand for the woman to shake. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

The woman—Anya, she assumes—stares at her in silence for another long minute, but she refuses to flinch.

Finally, she turns and walks back into the gallery, leaving the door open. Clarke figures that’s as good as an invitation as she’s going to get, and follows.

“Lincoln,” Anya calls as she walks through the open space. Then she disappears through a doorway leading to an office and slams the door behind her.

That feels more like a dismissal, and Clarke stops in her tracks, bewildered. Before she can tuck her tail between her legs and retreat, though, another door opens and a tall, broad shouldered young man, probably somewhere around her age, steps out.

“Hello,” he says, and his voice is gentle despite his intimidating, buff, heavily-tattooed appearance. “How can I help you?”

“Um,” Clarke says, losing some of the raw confidence she’d had in the face of terror. “I’m here about the open position?” she says again, but it sounds more like a question this time. “My name is Clarke Griffin, I recently moved to Stars Hollow.”

The man smiles, and Clarke is struck by how good-looking he is.

_Why is everyone in this town so freaking hot?_

“Hi, Clarke,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lincoln.” He extends his hand and Clarke shakes it.

“Nice to meet you,” Clarke replies.

“Welcome to Stars Hollow,” he adds. “I hope you feel at home here.”

It’s probably crazy to think so after two days, but she really believes she will. She kind of almost does, already. “Thank you,” she says. “It’s a bit of an adjustment from Hartford,” she adds, “but it feels...special.”

Kind of weird, she thinks, but knows better than to say. Still, Lincoln seems to know what she’s thinking.

“Strange, as well,” he says. “It takes some adjustment. I grew up a few towns over,” he adds, as an explanation. “I moved here two years ago, but in a community like this I’m still something of an outsider.”

“Well,” Clarke says, “maybe I’ve stolen some of your new kid thunder.”

Lincoln smiles again, and even if he isn’t born-and-raised, she feels that same Stars Hollow warmth she felt when Monty hugged her or Bellamy smirked at her. “Maybe. Here, why don’t you come into my office? It’s a little more cramped than Anya’s, but I have tea.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

The interview—if it can be called that—is brief. Clarke wasn’t expecting to actually have an interview today, just to set up an appointment, but according to Lincoln they’re ahead of schedule for the next show and he has plenty of time for once.

He asks her a few questions about her credentials and her experience with art, which turns into a conversation about different pieces they’ve made and artists they admire, until finally Lincoln looks at his watch and says, “Oh, I don’t mean to keep you. Would you be available to start tomorrow?”

Clarke blinks, sure she’s misheard him. “Sorry?”

“The position,” he says. “Assistant Curator. We’d like to offer it to you. Is tomorrow too early to start? It’s just with the opening next week, I’d like some extra time to show you the ropes.”

“Don’t you need to ask Anya?” she blurts. It’s not like she wants to talk him out of hiring her, but Anya is terrifying and presumably his boss, and she doesn’t want to get on her bad side. Ever.

Lincoln just shoots her another grin. “She’s already approved you,” he says. “She would never have let you past the door otherwise.”

Clarke takes a minute to let that sink in. She smiles, tentative, not sure how things are working out so well. She imagines her mother’s fury not only that Clarke is living out of a hotel, working in an art gallery, but especially that her whole crazy plan hasn’t crashed and burned and left her on the streets or crawling back to Hartford.

“In that case,” Clarke says, “tomorrow would be perfect.”

~~~

Over the next week, Clarke’s life goes from a nightmarish blur of anxiety to...kind of amazing, actually. The gallery is a dream come true. She goes to Bellamy’s every day for breakfast and then again for a debrief after work, and she’s slowly appropriating all his friends to be her friends, too. There’s Jasper and Monty, of course, plus Harper and Monroe, plus Wick, then Miller, who is Bellamy’s best friend and Monty’s crush, and Raven, who runs the garage and is terrifyingly gorgeous and competent and probably the coolest person Clarke has ever met.

Now that she has apparently passed Anya’s incomprehensible test and gained approval, she settles neatly into being her protégé, and she loves every second. She and Lincoln spend the week scrambling to make sure the new show is perfect, and she falls asleep at Niylah’s inn every night feeling like she’s doing something that actually matters to her for once.

Her mother calls every now and then. She never answers, and Abby never leaves a voicemail.

Meanwhile, Clarke gets a life.

The gallery opens Friday at 7:00pm sharp, and Clarke tries not to cry when she goes to open the doors and the first people in line are Monty, Jasper, Raven, and Bellamy. Jasper and Monty light up when they see her, of course, give her high fives and talk too loud and too fast about how excited they are, and disappear into the exhibit.

Raven sweeps her up into a huge hug, lifting her off the ground a bit and honestly cackling when Clarke yelps. “How are you doing?” she asks once Clarke is firmly settled on the ground, suddenly serious, scanning her face for any hint of distress. “Everything good?”

“It’s perfect,” Clarke admits, and Raven grins.

“Of course it is, princess, you wouldn’t settle for anything less.” Clarke stifles her smile at both the compliment and the way Bellamy’s nickname for her has started spreading. Raven punches her on the shoulder and then she’s gone too.

And there’s Bellamy.

Other patrons filter past them into the exhibit, of course, but Fox, one of the volunteers, is handling tickets, so she and Bellamy can stand to the side and talk for a minute.

“So, ready to be vindicated in your hatred of the arts?” she asks brightly.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Gee, you make one scathing remark about the ephemerality of somebody’s job prospects and they never let you forget it, huh?”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, it’s a real pain,” she agrees.

In all seriousness, she’s pretty sure Bellamy is going to love the exhibit. She honestly defies anyone to take a single look at it and not forget to breathe for a second. The artist, a young man named Aden, was a student of Anya’s when she was teaching art at some prestigious school in New York, and he’d apparently jumped at the chance to create an exhibit for her new gallery, even if it is more or less in the middle of nowhere. In fact, he’d anchored his pieces in one of the greatest charms of life outside the city: stars.

The gallery is broken up into three rooms—the main area, whose entrance is through the vestibule and off which came the curators’ offices, and two slightly smaller wings on each side. Aden filled all three absolutely to bursting with countless stars in myriad media. Colorful paper origami stars hang from glittering wires and are piled in corners and in jars, while hand cut and painted glow-in-the-dark stars grace the ceilings and walls. Canvases display constellations and comets and the death of at least one sun, and sculpted stars are made out of clay and marble and metal alike, and everything shimmers with a layer of glitter that Clarke is pretty sure will never come out of her hair.

The overhead lights are completely off, and the only light once you enter the exhibit comes from the glow paint and a few glass blown stars Aden filled with fairy lights and hung from the ceiling. The effect is beyond magical.

Clarke is a little too pleased by Bellamy’s sharp inhale when he enters the room, but she doesn’t tease him anymore.

“Yeah,” she says, and he smiles at her, soft.

She sticks to his side as he wanders mostly in silence, taking the time to reexamine the pieces herself. Aden is young, she thinks to herself, but he is definitely talented. She hopes he’ll do another exhibit for the gallery before long. She wants to watch him make it big.

By the time Lincoln requests everyone’s attention for Aden’s remarks, she’s almost forgotten about what she and Lincoln have dubbed the grand finale of the evening. Aden speaks for a few minutes about his process and his inspirations, thanks everyone for coming, and then directs everyone’s attention to the ceiling.

He shoots Clarke a nervous grin as he climbs a ladder at the edge of the room, reaching one hand towards the base of an intricate pattern of paper and fuses tracing the protective metal sheet she and Lincoln had painfully affixed to the ceiling following Aden’s last minute addition to the program.

“Here goes nothing,” he says.

Then he lights the fuse. Lights shimmer and flash across the room one by one, and it’s worth every debate and argument about flammable materials and fire codes she and Lincoln had with the Fire Brigade and Pike and each other.

A murmur ripples throughout the crowd as the lights travel, and Clarke suddenly feels very...alone.

“I wonder if wishes count on this kind of shooting star,” she says, quiet.

She feels more than sees Bellamy turn to look at her, and she feels a rush of embarrassment. Before she can say anything else, though, he’s looking away again.

“I wouldn’t even know what to wish for,” he admits.

There’s no answer for that, and so they fall back into silence.

~~~

“Clarke!” Anya’s voice is sharp, and a week ago Clarke would have thought she was angry with her. By now she knows it’s just her default setting.

The lights are all on again and it’s far too bright in the gallery, making Clarke’s eyes ache. The patrons are long gone, and Clarke and Lincoln are tidying up and making the necessary adjustments for the next day of the show tomorrow. Honestly, all Clarke wants to do is get back to the inn and sleep for a week and a half.

Instead, she turns to her boss. “Yes, Anya?”

Anya isn’t alone. Next to her is a young woman with brown hair pulled into a neat braid, sharp features, and a frown. The woman looks at Clarke in a way that Clarke can only think of as predatory.

“I want you to meet someone,” Anya says. “Clarke, this is Lexa Woods. She was a student of mine around the same time as Aden.”

Clarke blinks. “Lexa Woods?” she says, almost immediately regretting the eagerness in her voice. It’s just—Clarke has heard of Lexa Woods. She’s a well-known up-and-comer in the art world, and she is coming up _fast_. “I saw your show in Hartford last spring,” she says, unable to help herself. “Your portraits are...incredible.”

She feels a little like a babbling idiot, but Lexa’s expression softens at her enthusiasm, and she even offers a small smile.

“Thank you, Clarke,” she says. “It’s kind of you to say so. I wanted to extend my own compliments. You’ve done a fantastic job with this exhibit. And Anya has shown me a bit of your work, as well. You have a real talent.”

Clarke’s heart lurches at the praise, and then again when the look on Lexa’s face registers. Is she...flirting? Her cheeks flush at the idea, but...well, she’s definitely not opposed.

“Thank you,” she says. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“Of course,” Lexa’s smile strengthens slightly. “As a matter of fact, I’m considering offering a show here, myself. Anya’s asked me in the past, of course, but things have never quite worked out. But I think we could arrange something, providing you would work with me as curator on the project.”

Clarke has been on her feet since eight this morning, and she’s something like ninety percent sure she’s hallucinating this entire conversation.

“That—that would be amazing!” she says, and Anya cuts in with a curt nod.

“We’d love to continue this conversation, Lexa,” Anya says. “Perhaps tomorrow, over lunch?”

Lexa nods, but her eyes are on Clarke. “That sounds lovely. I think this could be a very good match.”

Okay, that was definitely flirting. And, well. Clarke can’t say she _disagrees_.

~~~

It only takes one meeting for Lexa to commit to a show at the gallery at its earliest available date, in a little more than three months. Apparently she, like Anya, actually grew up in Stars Hollow, and moved away in high school to pursue art full time in New York. Knowing that, it seems a little strange to Clarke that it took so long for her to agree to a show in Stars Hollow, and that she’s so insistent that Clarke, not the more experienced Lincoln, serve as curator, but her friend shrugs it off.

“She and I never clicked artistically,” he tells her, easy. “If she does with you, great. We can certainly use the exposure she’ll bring, and the money.”

Anya tells her essentially the same thing, if not in so many words, and in slightly more terrifying terms. “This program is extraordinarily important for the gallery,” she says. “It will bring traffic and recognition we couldn’t dream of getting this early otherwise, regardless of my connections. I expect your best.”

“Of course,” Clarke says, back straightening automatically. “I won’t let you down.”

And she really doesn’t think she will. She and Lexa do work well together, and Lexa is open to her feedback, treating her as an authority and a valued contributor. It doesn’t hurt that Lexa is beautiful, and has a lovely smile she seems to reserve just for Clarke, and that Clarke hasn’t really liked anyone for a long time. Lexa feels...possible, and that’s nice.

The next few months are a flurry of preparations for shows, tentative flirting with Lexa, and hanging out at Bellamy’s, though not necessarily in that order.

She continues to get closer with all her Stars Hollow friends, especially Lincoln and Raven, the gallery continues to be the best thing that’s ever happened to her, and Bellamy continues to prove himself heaven-sent when she drags herself in every morning and evening to find a cup of desperately-needed coffee almost instantly in her hands and Bellamy ready with a full queue of failed Stars Hollow projects to keep her apprised of.

“Dance Marathon—well, truthfully, not a bad event in itself, but a lot of bullshitty drama always seems to come out then,” Bellamy muses one afternoon. Clarke has had a particularly tough day, and part of her wants to tell him to give it a rest, but it’s actually kind of relaxing, just listening to him talk.

“Like what kind of drama?” she can’t help asking despite herself.

He grins at her. “Let’s see. Last year Anya and Mrs. Sidney got into a fistfight on the dancefloor. Two years ago Murphy and Emori built a blanket fort in the middle of the event, then got engaged via a screaming match that I’m pretty sure was scripted and fabricated just for the spectacle. Three years ago was the year Raven found out Finn was cheating on her and she kicked him in the balls so hard he threw up on Gina…” he quirks an eyebrow at her. “Do I need to continue?”

“I think I get the picture.”

Once she’s gotten to know him, it makes perfect sense to Clarke that Bellamy runs a diner. She has never met anyone more hell-bent on taking care of everyone he meets—making sure people eat their veggies and don’t ingest too much caffeine, comping meals left and right for the people who wouldn’t get to eat otherwise, but finding a way to twist it so it never seems like pity or charity. Even more than that, he always shows his concern for people’s lives outside his diner—he’s grumpy as anything, yes, completely indifferent to town gossip, but he never forgets to ask Raven how her leg is feeling or help Charlotte write a history paper or deal with mean girls at school, or even—miracle of miracles—actually _leave_ the diner to help Gina or Vera Kane with projects around their yards and houses.

He’s just...so _good_. He’s like everyone’s mom, everyone’s big brother, and everyone’s favorite, weirdly hot teacher all rolled up in one and scowling behind the counter in a flannel shirt.

Which, of course, he’s doing now. All their friends are gathered in the diner, despite the closed sign prominently displayed in the window, because they’re having a game night. Apparently the Stars Hollow natives—Bellamy, Raven, Monty, Jasper, Wick, Miller, Monroe, and Harper—have been doing it for years. Clarke has apparently proven herself worthy to be added to the guest list, and she had immediately taken it upon herself to invite Lincoln, in equal parts because she likes hanging out with him and so she wouldn’t be the only newbie.

So far, it seems like game night is minimally about games, and more so about drinking and heckling Bellamy as he insists on cleaning up the diner before they can start playing and refusing to accept any help to make the process go faster.

Eventually, talk turns to the upcoming Flower Festival. From what Clarke has gathered, Stars Hollow has _a lot_ of festivals, but there haven’t been any since she’s moved in. They all appear to be some shade of ridiculous or borderline alarming, and they appear to be popular with nearly everyone in Stars Hollow, even snarky cynics like Raven and Miller.

The Flower Festival is no different. Monroe is organizing a flower crown making party the morning of the festival, Raven is arguing with Wick about the best ways to distribute an honestly unfathomable number of flowers across town, and even Lincoln is telling Clarke about the art booth he’s planning to have.

“So what are the flowers about?” Clarke asks when there’s a lull in the conversation, and everyone kind of stares at her.

“What?” Harper finally asks.

She gestures aimlessly. “I just mean—like, how did the festival start? Where does the tradition come from? What’s the significance of all the flowers?”

Harper looks at Raven. Raven looks at Monty, who looks at Wick, who looks at Monroe, who looks back at Harper. They all burst into laughter, long and loud and ridiculous, while Clarke tries to figure out what’s so funny. She looks at Lincoln, who shrugs.

Raven is the first to recover, so she turns to Clarke, gasping for breath. “I...have no idea,” she finally says. “I don’t think it’s ever occurred to anyone to question any of these bullshit festivals. We might literally have been brainwashed into Jaha’s cult of kitschy togetherness, and we can’t even bring ourselves to care anymore. You’re the only outsiders left.”

“That’s not terrifying at all,” Clarke says, dry. “Thanks for making it sound like a good time.”

“My pleasure,” Raven assures her.

~~~

The Flower Festival is, in a word, absurd.

Whatever Clarke was expecting—which, honestly? She didn’t devote a lot of energy to imagining how this was going to go down—it has been completely blown out of the water. All the available surfaces in the square (and most of the unavailable ones) seem to be covered in flowers: real, fake, silk, paper, plastic, pink, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white, neon green, planted in the ground, bundled up in bouquets, scattered into piles of petals...the works. Despite all of Bellamy’s reminders about how un-technologically advanced this town is, Clarke is genuinely surprised Jaha doesn’t have drones flying around dropping more flowers.

Everyone is standing around in the square, mingling and talking and drinking out of flower print cups and eating food cut and shaped to look like flowers and kids are playing—wait for it—ring around the rosy over by the school. Everywhere Clarke looks (including in the mirror) there are flower crowns.

It’s kind of a lot, but it’s also kind of amazing. It seems like something too improbable to exist.

“I feel like I'm in a Harvest Moon game,” Clarke says. “Do I need to go water my crops and milk my cow after the festival cutscene is done? What’s my suitor’s preferred daily gift?”

“Depends,” Monty says, all innocence. “Who's your suitor?”

Clarke swats his arm.

“I feel like you can never go wrong with eggs,” Jasper offers. “Lots of people like eggs. Eating them, cooking them. Sometimes selling them to other people. Harvest Moon NPCs, I mean.”

“I don't think that's part of the Harvest Moon canon,” Clarke grumbles, and Jasper just grins.

She knows exactly what both of them are thinking, of course. It's not like she hasn't seen them exchange meaningful looks whenever she and Bellamy bicker, or whisper and snicker while she leans against the counter and chatters on to distract Bellamy from Jaha and Pike and whatever bullshit they're on on any given day.

But it's not like it's a thing. They are not into each other. If Clarke's into anybody, it's Lexa. Right? They’ve been spending a lot of time together planning her show, and it’s been...nice. Really nice. She’s cute. Clearly interested. They have a lot in common. It seems logical.

And logic is a good way to deal with crushes, obviously. Call it residual med school brain.

Luckily, before Jasper or Monty can tease her anymore, the rest of the group shows up—Raven, Harper, Miller, Monroe, Lincoln, and Wick. No Bellamy, but she wasn’t really expecting him to leave the diner for this. They only stay in one big unit for a few minutes, everyone chattering wildly, before practicality demands they stop shuffling around together like a too-rambunctious herd of deer, and split into groups of two and three to explore, promising to meet back up at four o’clock for the somewhat terrifyingly named Floral Ceremony and Feast, if not before then.

Like her very thoughts conjured her, right after the group splits, she sees Lexa standing near a tent, texting. Clarke watches her for a few minutes as she, Jasper, and Harper wander from booth to booth, checking out jewelry and food and _so many flowers_. Unlike the rest of the townspeople, moving and mingling, she doesn’t drift an inch from that one spot. Like a Harvest Moon NPC at a festival, waiting for the player character to come talk to her.

It’s not like it’s just spite against Monty and Jasper’s not-so-subtle Bellamy hints that make her tell her friends she’ll catch up and not to wait for her. She likes Lexa. They’re basically work colleagues. Almost friends. Possibly interested in each other? It would be weirder if she didn’t go say hi.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Clarke teases when she gets close enough, and Lexa looks up sharply, a smile softening her face when she sees Clarke.

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa says. “This...isn’t really my scene,” she admits, glancing at the floral curtain behind her with a shadow of a grimace.

Clarke smiles, inhaling the way-too-strong perfume of way too many flowers clogging the air. “I think it’s kind of cute,” she admits. “Absolutely batshit insane, but cute.”

Lexa takes a step closer to her. Subtly, casually, but Clarke notices nonetheless. She inclines her head. “I’ll admit I’ve found that combination appealing before,” she says, even, and Clarke’s stomach flips.

She’s not really in a mindset to deal with whatever stage of pre-flirting this is, so she quickly changes the subject to the gallery. If Lexa is disappointed, she doesn’t show it. But Clarke guesses she doesn’t show much of any emotion, does she?  

“Jasper and Monty tried to start a stand in the square selling pot brownies when they were teenagers,” Bellamy remarks, suddenly appearing next to her, leaning in close to her ear. “But I guess it’s not that shocking that that one never took off.”

She turns to smile at him, and he shoots a lopsided grin back. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else when Lexa clears her throat.

Bellamy jumps. Honestly, so does Clarke.

“Oh, hey, Lexa. Sorry, I didn’t see you. It’s been a while. How’s it going?” he asks, his smile faltering a little.

Lexa gives a light hum of acknowledgment. “I didn’t realize you were so invested in the history of recreational marijuana use in Stars Hollow,” she says, idly scrolling through something on her phone again.

“Bellamy’s been keeping me apprised of all your town’s failed projects,” Clarke says drily, shooting him a tiny smirk.

“Stars Hollow the Musical—trainwreck. Stars Hollow on Ice—trainwreck on ice,” Bellamy rattles off without missing a beat, always helpful, but he sounds a little flat.

Lexa doesn’t seem as amused by Bellamy as Clarke begrudgingly feels.

Bellamy shifts, obviously uncomfortable, and Clarke can’t really blame him. There’s a definite tension in the air, and while she has no direct knowledge of any bad blood between Bellamy and Lexa, the latter continues to actively not look at him, a clear message, and Clarke feels small on his behalf.

“Anyway,” she says, not liking the feeling settling into the pit of her stomach. “Bellamy promised to get a cup of rose tea with me, so I’ll see you later, Lexa.”

Lexa’s gaze jerks up to her now, looking startled and slightly vulnerable, but Clarke’s already grabbed Bellamy’s wrist and started dragging him towards the refreshments table with a wave behind her.

“You don’t have to—” Bellamy says, but he doesn’t finish the thought. “Thanks,” he finally says.

She doesn't push it as they cross the square and find samples of the weird tea, hoping he'll offer some kind of explanation on his own. About the Lexa thing, or even why he deigned to make his way out to the festival in the first place.

He doesn't, and Clarke tries not to feel frustrated. They're kind of friends, she thinks, but they're also still kind of strangers. She can understand why he might not volunteer information about whatever weird baggage he's got with Lexa. That totally makes sense.

Of course, being who she is, she's more than willing to pry about it.

“So, wow,” she says, her quick laugh sounding false to her own ears. “What’s up with you and Lexa?”

Bellamy makes a face, but he covers it up quickly. “Nothing,” he says.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Okay, try again, but more convincing this time.”

With a sigh, Bellamy tosses his cup into a nearby trash can, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It’s honestly not even a big deal. Or, I didn’t think it was. We didn’t really get along, growing up. She was this golden child, pride of the town, all that. I was...not.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Clarke still doesn’t really get it. “How is that something that sticks around into adulthood?” she asks.

Bellamy shrugs. “I didn’t think it had. Doesn’t really matter to me. I’m happy with my life, and I assume she is too. I don’t see her that much, we usually just nod and move on. She’s never been quite that, uh, dismissive, though,” he says, shooting her a look she can’t quite read. Curious, she thinks. Calculating. Then she blinks and it’s gone.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not quite sure why she feels the need to apologize for Lexa. It’s not like Lexa is her responsibility. It just...kind of feels like she is. If she’s being a dick to Bellamy.

Bellamy shoots her a crooked smirk. “Don’t worry about it, princess,” he says, all affection, and the tension eases a bit. Clarke feels like she can breathe again.

She and Bellamy wander the booths for a while longer, and then they meet back up with the rest of the group, and before she knows it it’s time for the Feast, complete with a twenty-minute speech from Jaha, and it’s everything she didn’t realize she should be dreaming of.

As they’re leaving the festival, Jasper’s arm slung across her shoulder as he laughs way too hard at Harper’s jokes, Miller cracking snarky comebacks, Raven shoving Wick, she catches Lexa’s eye across the square.

Lexa sends her a small, apologetic smile. Clarke is still a little upset about the way she treated Bellamy, but, well, Bellamy doesn’t seem to be too bitter about it, and she’s feeling softhearted and benevolent after a nice day with her friends, and Lexa looks chagrined. So she smiles back.

It’s good to be friendly, anyway. They basically work together. They’re sort of friends.

Yeah.

~~~

After Lincoln, and of course Bellamy, Raven is probably Clarke’s closest friend in Stars Hollow. So when Raven shows up at the gallery on a Friday night and insists Clarke stop working and come get a drink with her, she goes without hesitation.

Of course, it’s Raven, so it’s not too long before one drink turns into two, turns into three, turns into shots, turns into hustling at pool and making forty bucks between them.

Eventually they end up sitting back at the bar, spending part of their winnings on more drinks, and Raven slings her arm around her shoulders and leans into her neck, affectionate.

“I had an ulterior motive inviting you tonight,” she admits.

“What?” Clarke says, turning away from the bartender, whom she’d been trying to flag down for an order of fries.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Raven says. “You’re awesome, and I’d totally invite you drinking any day of the week, we make an unstoppable team. But there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Clarke tries to clear her mind, focus up, and says, “Absolutely. Anything you need.”

Raven laughs. “Don’t freak out, it’s nothing bad. It’s Bellamy.”

“Bellamy?” Clarke says, unable to hide her surprise.

“What do you think about him?”

It’s a weird question. Bellamy is...Bellamy. He’s the first person he talks to most mornings. He provides her with coffee and eggs. He tells her about dumb Stars Hollow history and teases her and makes sure she’s surviving every day. He’s funny and kind and one of the best friends she’s ever had.

Clarke shrugs, waving a hand uncertain. “He’s great. What else is there to say?”

Raven is blunt. “He likes you.”

A bolt of lightning shoots through Clarke’s system, made worse by the alcohol settling in her stomach. She feels suddenly too hot and too cold.

She shakes her head. “Shut up,” she says.

“I’m serious.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she says. “He’s Bellamy. That’s just how he is.”

Raven makes her look her in the face. “Clarke. I’ve known Bellamy since I was born. It’s not. And I know you’d never mean to, but I don’t want you to hurt him.”

“I won’t,” Clarke says, reflexive. “I couldn’t.”

Raven shakes her head. “No one can say I didn’t try,” she says, but she drops it.

Clarke orders another drink.

~~~

Two days before the show, everything changes.

She and Lexa are alone in the gallery, making some final adjustments to arrangement and ensuring everything is flawless. Or at least, that’s what they’re supposed to be doing. In reality, they finished preparations for the show in less than an hour, and have ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, drinking wine and talking about everything under the sun.

For the first time, Clarke feels like she might really, actually, genuinely be able to fall for Lexa. She feels almost sure.

And she knows Lexa feels the same. As the night goes on, the other woman’s eyes have softened more and more, and her smiles have come easier. Clarke finds herself wanting to draw her, imagines tracing her fingers along the lines of her face.

It’s early, of course. But maybe she and Lexa could be something special.

Just as she thinks this, Lexa’s gaze drops to her lips, and she pauses in relating a story about her ex-girlfriend.

“It’s hard for me,” Lexa admits, soft. “Caring about people. I’ve had several very damaging relationships, and they’ve shown me how dangerous it can be. It makes you weak, wrecks your judgment. I needed to be stronger.” She pauses, brushes her hand against Clarke. Meets her eyes. “I care about you,” she says.

And then before Clarke can respond, before she can process what’s happening, Lexa is kissing her. It’s a shock, at first, but after a second she adjusts, relaxes into it.

They only kiss for a few moments before the door opens, and she hears Bellamy call, “Clarke?”

Lexa pulls back, breathless, and they both scramble to their feet, but as Bellamy enters the room it’s beyond clear that he saw exactly what was happening.

“Lexa,” he says, careful.

“Blake,” she replies, flat. “I should go, Clarke,” she adds.

“I—wait,” Clarke says, but Lexa kisses her quickly on the cheek and leaves, her heels clacking too loud on the wood floors.

The silence that stretches when she’s gone is beyond unbearable.

“You weren’t at game night,” he says, still too even. Clarke tries not to hear Raven’s voice in her head. “I thought maybe...uh, I thought maybe you were overworking yourself. Forgot to take a break.”

Game night. Fuck. She’d completely forgotten. But not because of work.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he adds. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Bellamy,” she says, desperation making her voice shake. “I didn’t—it’s not—”

“Whatever, Clarke. What you do is your business.” He pauses and looks at her one more time. She can’t read his tone when he says, “You and Lexa are good for each other.”

And then he’s gone.

Clarke takes a deep breath. Fights back tears. Feels, a little bit, like her newly rebuilt world is starting to crumble back to dust.

~~~

It gets worse. When Clarke walks into the gallery the next morning, the world isn’t crumbling. It’s exploding.

She can hear Anya shouting before she even makes it inside, though she can’t make out the words. She rushes to unlock the door and make it through the lobby, into the main showroom.

Lexa stands in the middle of the floor, arms folded over her chest, face smooth and impassive as Anya looms over her, looking like she’s about to throw a punch. Lincoln hovers behind their boss, looking upset but ready to intervene before things get physical. Men in dark, well-pressed button downs move with clinical efficiency around the showroom, packing Lexa’s pieces into boxes.

What. The. Fuck.

“You _will_ be hearing from our lawyers, you dirty little—” Anya is saying, pointing sharply at Lexa. Lincoln grabs her arm and starts pulling her towards the office, shooting an unreadable look at Clarke as they go. Lexa’s expression doesn’t change.

“Lexa?” Clarke asks, and that’s as far as her voice works.

“I’m sorry, Clarke, but I’m going to have to pull my program,” Lexa says, tone even.

Clarke’s heart drops to her toes. “What?”

Lexa tucks her hair behind her ear, even though it’s already pulled back and perfectly smooth. “I know this comes at an inconvenient time,” she says, which is probably the understatement of the year. “But I received a phone call this morning. I’ve been offered a spot in Dante Wallace’s showcase. In Paris,” she adds, like Clarke has never heard of Dante fucking Wallace and doesn’t know where his world-famous fucking show is.

“That’s not for weeks,” Clarke says. “Lexa, our show opens _tomorrow_. You can’t do this.”

“Dante prefers pieces in his show to be brand new and unshown,” Lexa says. “I know this is difficult, Clarke, but you understand how important it is for my career. This opportunity may not come around again.”

“You can’t do this.” Clarke hates the desperation in her voice. At this point, though, the men have already cleared the room. It’s empty. Barren. And Clarke has two hundred tickets already sold for tomorrow night’s opening. “I thought—we—”

Lexa shakes her head, eyes earnest. “This isn’t about us, Clarke. I hope you understand it’s not. I hope you understand that I—” She reaches out, like she’s going to touch her, but Clarke flinches away. Lexa nods, face falling. “I understand,” she says. “I hope someday you do, too.”

And then she’s gone. And Clarke is screwed. And the gallery is screwed.

Clarke wanders into Anya’s office in a daze, collapses into an armchair. Lincoln and Anya are sitting in silence, Anya clutching one of Lincoln’s mugs like she’s strongly considering crushing it with her bare hands.

Clarke is scrambling for something, anything to hold onto. “Lawyers,” she says, no preamble. “You said lawyers. If we—”

“There’s nothing we can really do about it,” Anya admits, bitterness seeping into her tone. “We don’t have a legal leg to stand on. It wasn’t a binding agreement. I trusted her.” She sighs. “Stars Hollow has made me soft, I guess. Weaker than I was back in New York.”

Clarke shakes her head, trying not to think about warm mugs of coffee and crooked smiles. “No,” she says. “Caring about people doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong.”

~~~

Bellamy finds her sitting on the stoop of his diner first thing the next morning. For a second, he just looks at her, and she’s terrified he’s going to tell her to get lost.

Instead, he sits down beside her. He knows, probably. News travels fast in this town.

“This might not be helpful,” he says, “but Lexa’s a dick.”

Clarke snorts, bumping her shoulder against his, looking at the concrete under her feet. “It’s a little helpful,” she admits.

“I’m also a dick,” he adds.

“That’s also a little helpful.”

He lets out a little huff, but when she looks at him he’s smiling. She smiles, too.

There’s a long silence, stretched out like taffy between them. “What are you going to do?” he finally asks.

She lets the question sit for a while as she considers it. “I’m sure you know the gallery isn’t doing great. I mean, you did warn me.”

“Clarke—” he says, sounding regretful.

“No,” she says. “No, it’s true. It’s a pipe dream in a lot of ways. I love it, but I’m not impractical. Lexa was our ticket to a...a safety net, I guess. Big profits in the moment, and the exposure we needed to get consistent tourist traffic. Now we’re out what we paid for prep, out a show for the next two weeks, and as unknown as we’ve ever been.” She gives him a halfhearted smile. “Ten to one I’ll be out of a job within a month.”

Bellamy is very still beside her. “And then?” he asks, his voice soft.

“What do you mean?”

“If the gallery goes down,” he says. “Or if it doesn’t. What does it mean for you?”

Too late, she realizes the question he doesn’t want to ask. _Are you leaving?_

She smiles, and he looks like he’s bracing himself.

“It sucks,” she says. “But we’re gonna hold on. I'm not ready to give up yet. Not on this town. Not on Anya. Or Lincoln. Or…” There's a beat as she weighs the next word. “You.”

Bellamy scoots a little closer to her, relief clear on his face. “Maybe you're a fad that's going to stick around,” he offers.

“Yeah,” she says, leaning against him with a soft smile. “Maybe.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more to come of this story! Look forward to that!


End file.
